


God of War

by Snape_420



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Nudity, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 01:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snape_420/pseuds/Snape_420
Summary: This is a submission for a Prompt Challenge. I chose the God of War prompt, obviously. It got away from me a bit and kind of encompassed all of the Ancient Greek world (Ares was a randy guy, much like our Negan) I didn’t use any actual character names but only referenced them as Greek characters. There is a reference key at the end for clarification. I also tied in my own Negan fic, just a bit, but you’ll get it fine without reading it, no worries. This fic fits nicely between my posted works, Little Bird and Little Whispers.





	God of War

** God of War **

 

_“Ares who traffics in the gold of bodies and holds his scale in the battle sends back to their kin … heavy dust burnt in the fire, which brings hard tears.”_

Fire bloomed in his mind at the sound of the dripping water…  _drip… drip… drip._  He willed the flames to rise forth in his dark reality, so that they could turn the drops to steam. He didn’t have that power anymore, though.

_“Heavy dust burnt in the fire…” Drip… drip… drip._

His eyes glared up at the ceiling of his confinement, a topaz that was shadowed, rendered burnt by the gods’ betrayal. Heavy lids drifted lower as the sound continued and beneath its constant, annoying refrain another sound arose. This one was imagined, he was sure. He’d heard it only once before, so long ago. Still, it was in his ears now, without a fucking doubt, whether put there by reality or imagination. It twisted among the falling droplets, a cruel, reptilian hiss. His mind tumbled against the sound as he remembered that horrible day.

_Drip… drip… Hisss…drip… drip._

* * *

_The hospital staff was barely clinging to sanity. Many of the doctors had left long ago… most of them, actually. A determined few had stuck around to help the nurses. There were more nurses left at this point then he expected, but fuck if that weren’t nurses for you. Fighting death until the brutal fucking end. They’d learned early on that death was coming back now with a motherfucking vengeance. They’d learned how to put it down again. That’s what made his failure even worse.  
_

_He’d known. He’d faced the failure without the cushion of ignorance._

_He grumbled as he stalked past a door that rattled and groaned with the minions of Hades rebirth, jerking his fist against the wood violently. Then he went on. It wasn’t going to be enough. They were fighting death but it was a constant rising tide here and damn if it didn’t fucking smell like it, too. He finally breathed deeply as he escaped onto the roof. Even still, the smell of putrid rotting flesh, decay, and septic infection lingered on the wind. The whole world would smell like this soon…_ Rotten.

_Hisss…_

_He turned his head at the sudden sibilance, his feet moving automatically to the edge of the roof. Gazing down he saw exactly why the air was so fetid. The bodies stretched at least fifteen deep along every side of the hospital he could see from his position. Most had been wrapped in sheets but it had gotten to the point bodies were being rolled out and piled unceremoniously outside an ambulance bay. The tide was rising… drip… drip… drip._

_From his vantage point the roaming dead seemed almost comical, like the sleepwalking vestiges of children’s cartoons. He was tempted to throw rocks at the shambling, cursed fucks; he even squatted down for a stone on the roof. The hissing sound stopped him and he stood slowly, suddenly catching sight of the biggest motherfucking bird he’d ever seen outside of a damn zoo. It was ugly as all fucking Hell with a bald, scabbed head which contained crawling, beady eyes; all of this leered above the grotesque, oversized body of a crow._

_It was hopping amongst the dead, flapping its huge wings every now and again to easily flutter a few feet away from stumbling rotters when they got too close. All the while it let out the same unearthly hissing sound, like a reptilian demon come to twist in your dreams. He stared at it, watching it pick loose globules of stagnant flesh, purple and curled with decay. His stomach roiled as he watched, as he realized soon it would be pulling_ her  _rotten flesh from bones. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It should have been him._

She  _would beat this… this totally fucked, completely unfathomable situation._ She _would find a way. That was what she did. She could solve anything. The darkest, most twisted problems fell to harmless threads in her calm, logical hands. He’d seen her do it with her social work. He’d watched her transform students… hopeless little fucks that he’d given up on as wasted effort. Yet somehow, she would find a way to reach them. It was what she did. There had always been a cool, calculated intellect about her and it settled all the more when she tackled a difficult problem. That attitude had settled over her like a blanket at the end._

_First, she faced the reality of his pointless and selfish affair. He’d been too much of a fucking coward to call it off. But even as she faced it, she never blamed him. She dealt with it… stoic and, calm. That had hurt even more. Then there was the cancer diagnosis. They fought that battle for years, with her at the helm. She faced her foe with a systematic plan formed by an entire fucking team of doctors… but it had all been for naught. It didn’t matter. Even in defeat she was stoic; that was just her way._

_Laying in her bed, all her gorgeous dark hair turned to mist by chemical fluids, she’d watched the world begin to shatter and break within the small rectangle of the hospital television. She’d watched him pacing, the anger blooming to billow around him._

_“It’s going to all come crumbling down soon, love. You’ll have to be strong, maybe even ruthless. You are made for surviving this. You WILL survive this. But you’ll have to be smart too.”_

_He’d turned to look at her, his face pained as he realized she was starting to say goodbye. He hurried to her, desperate, falling to his knees._

_“I can’t fucking do this without you. I need you. Fucking shit, I can’t do this.” He had kissed her hands feverishly, willing them to be less like paper, willing thick flesh to cushion the brittle bones. These hands had felt the spray of the River Styx._

_“You’ll have to. You’ll have to be strong.”_

_But he had failed her. He couldn’t even be strong enough to end her when she came back as one of those monsters. He had failed. He felt the beady eyes of the vulture seek him out high up on the rooftop. The blackness of those eyes was like the corrosive hole spreading within, a growing cavity in his soul._

_Hisss… drip… drip… drip._

* * *

Squeezing his eyes shut, he sought to force away the thickening hiss. It rose and morphed until it sounded like a shrill alarm, akin to a tea kettle, before fizzling to nothing. The water remained. It was a constant in his life now, like the fire of his past… _drip…drip._  He sat up on his small cot, swinging his legs over the edge then taking the three steps it took him to get to his desk. He gazed down dully at the large text that sat there, running his fingers absently over the cover. It was a collection of Byron’s classics. Not really his motherfuckin’ cup of tea, but he’d read every other thing after being stuck here for eighteen fucking months. He opened it and gazed down… Of course, he’d been reading about  _her…_

_Athena…_

_“Ancient of days! August Athena! Where,_

_Where are thy men of might? Thy grand in soul?_

_Gone— glimmering through the dream of things that were.”_

This brought him into another night, not long after he lost her… after he failed her. It had been a night devoid of men of might…

* * *

 

_Fire rose, snarling and snapping at those screaming in the road. They ran like blind, dumb fools, aimless, crashing into each other and stumbling and falling and dying. The gunfire wasn’t too far off but he knew the chances of bullets finding them was minimal. Still, the dead were everywhere and his jaw went slack as he watched the stupidity and gore thickening around him. The flare of a missile falling in the direction of Richmond brought him back. That had to be a big motherfucking explosion to see it from here._

_“Alright, listen the fuck up, people! You want to live, you better fucking listen to me! Grab what you can from your cars and follow me, but make sure you don’t grab so much you can’t motherfucking run. And don’t fucking hesitate to drop shit. Weapons take priority, then food and water. You have two motherfucking minutes!”_

_As the night deepened he’d found a whole troop of fucking people following him through the woods. He balanced his gun in his hand as he sat in the rough camp they’d set up. Looking just beyond and across a line of barbed wire, there was a large car lot… very similar to the one he had worked at._

_“We should head East, toward the coast.” The man sharing his fire was shaking horribly, his thumb picking nervously at the bat he held._

_“Don’t you think everyone else has that same fuckin’ idea? No, we’ll stay close. We’ll find a place to fucking hole up and ride the worst of this shit out. Then we’ll start rebuilding.”_

_“Where will we go?” The man’s eyes were desperate, pleading… weak. He glared in response._

_“Fuck if I know. Do I look like a fucking oracle?”_

_The sudden sound of screaming hit the camp and he knew they’d been compromised._

_“This is it!” He roared. “Stand your motherfucking ground! Guns!”_

_The rotters tore through them. He hadn’t learned how gunfire drew more, yet. He learned that night. Another fucking mistake_ she  _would never have made. Still, he told himself that he saw weakness dying as people fell all around him, even as he fought to protect it._

_“Fall back! Over the fence!”_

_He backed up, taking out Hades minions as he did. An uncontrollable smirk broke forth on his face as he easily skirted over the barbed wire. The man who’d shared his campfire didn’t fair so well. He got tangled in the bristled metal. He could see the man jerking his leg violently, sealing his fate as the barbs sunk tighter into his thigh, holding him like a tightening noose as the dead descended. His body seemed to explode all at once as the eager horde ripped and tore at his trapped flesh. The metallic scent of fresh blood outpaced the stench of rot, drawing more to finally end his suffering, which had been drawn out in agonized screams and moans._

_He was happy the man had faltered, as he distracted from the women and children who were doing the same. His eyes fell on the fallen bat amongst the feasting monsters. Reaching over his shoulder for his Mossberg, he laid down enough buck shell to clear a path, then took up the bat. It had twisted in the wire, but he didn’t care, spinning the wood in his practiced hand to wrench a length of metal loose and loop it around the wood, before laying waste to the undead around him._

_“You fuckers better get the fuck over this fence and to the goddamn cars!”_

_He roared as he continued laying waste, clearing a larger path for the desperate people who were fleeing for their lives. He watched them go as a vicious, maniacal laughter rose._

_“Come on, you motherfuckin’ cowards… Get behind Daddy. Bring it, you fucking assholes!!!”_

_“Where are thy men of might? Thy grand in soul?”_

* * *

He pushed the book of poems roughly from the desktop. It slid across the floor toward a pile of texts that had suffered a similar fate. They were all boring as all fucking hell, but he’d poured over the all of the action and war novels, even the dramas. Now he was left with classics and textbooks. Lord Byron’s binding was cracked and worn among the less tried volumes.  _The Iliad_ had lines of use along its spine, but the cover still had some sheen. Nearly unheard of in this fucked, dusty world.  _Agamemnon_ and  _The Odyssey_ spoke a truer history, with their dog-eared covers and faded lettering.

He glared at the tomes. His only company now, aside from the prick who came every day to change his shit bucket. That hermetic motherfucker had lost all the spring in his step thanks to his own handiwork. The feel of that leg snapping in his hands still made him smile when he remembered it. He’d torn the goddamned wings from his fucking gold sandals for good that day. Still, it was torturous to watch the prick succeed where he had failed. He was told in intricate detail of the trade routes he’d established, of the way he kept peace among the survivors. He laid out the boundaries he’d cut open so clearly, all the while with that tricky, yet cool glint in his eye. Yeah… he was a motherfucking prick. But he was  _his_ motherfucking prick.

_Drip… drip… drip._

The faucet taunted him. He glared over, through his bars, where he knew a rough bathroom had been carved out in the unfinished basement, awaiting fixtures and tile and humanity. He knew that it wouldn’t be too difficult to expand his cell, to include the plumbing, but the prick refused. That was a luxury he wouldn’t afford… and he couldn’t decide whether his desire for the dignity of a toilet outweighed the cruel glee he got watching the prick empty his shit bucket.

_Drip…drip… Hisss…_

He growled and turned away, reaching absently into the pile of books and retrieving a text on Ancient World History. He shrugged and moved back toward his pathetic cot. He had only thumbed through it. He turned to the Greek section, why the fuck not, and glared down at the image of Zeus. Justice and lightening were foreign elements in this world now, only sparked on rare occasions. This world was owned by Zeus’ brother Hades now, swamped with the dead of his cursed river. His fingers tore past both of them, pausing as he gazed at the son of Zeus instead, whose fiery eyes matched his own gaze.

_“Ares who traffics in the gold of bodies.”_

His fingers faltered on the image of fire, dropping down to another image. This one still fiery, but female…

_“Enyo, Goddess of War, who delighted in battle so much she refused to take sides…”_

He remembered his own Enyo. She had been made of fire. He remembered the first time he saw her…

* * *

_He peered over at his men, lifting a signal that told them to hold steady. He’d finally shed his weakness. He told himself this as he prepared for the upcoming assault, but he really had no idea how much weakness he had left within him to shed. Still, he’d shed enough to do this. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the large camp toiling below him. Every time he blinked he saw the sunken face of that dead boy. Starvation was one of the crueler ways to go, but these days it sure as fuck wasn’t the worst. Still, he remembered that little face… He forced it into his mind, steeling himself._

_Another signal from him prompted his people toward the camp. Days of sentry work had prepared him for this. Starvation, death, and desperation finally prompted him. He gave another signal as they approached the perimeter and the explosions sounded. Fire rained down around the camp; screams of terror went up in the night, tossed amongst the flames. His grin lit upon his face as he laid waste to those who stood against him, but most fled in terror at the sight of him. He was just as starved as the rest of his people and the cruel, desperate hunger in his eyes was terrifying to behold._

_He made his way easily to the center of the camp and met toe-to-toe with the leader. That was when he saw her, hair matching the flames that rose all around. Her eyes were bright at the sight of him and she bit her bottom lip. He let Athena have that man, smooth, calm strokes and a chaos of wood and barbed metal bringing that beautiful woman to her knees as she watched. As the blood pooled at his feet they all fell to their knees. His grin was split to let a broken laugh sound along with his heaving breath._

_They’d taken all the food and supplies and loaded all the people into vehicles. Back to the foundry they went, a place that was jagged and cruel and seemed to be choking them. He was determined to make it their home, though. Something drew him to the flame-drenched metal. He would find a way to wrestle the earth into submission. Until then they would take what they needed. Just as he took that gorgeous, flame-haired woman. She had wanted to be taken._

_Her heat thrust up against him as he rose over her, the sight of her fiery tendrils like blood pooling along the fabric of his bedspread. He watched her face contort with her climax, just as she tightened along his thrusting length. He wasn’t finished with her yet, though. Picking her up he made sure to keep his cock contained in the leaking slit between her thighs, holding her hips to aid in this endeavor. He braced her roughly against the wall, pressing his head down against her as he took a moment to readjust._

_Then he straightened as he pumped savagely, watching her face twist all over again. This one was hungry for chaos. He could see the flames of her camp rising in the distance. He focused on them as he fucked her raw and the woman called his name out into the ember encrusted night._

* * *

 

_Drip… drip… drip._

The sound of water dampened his quickly heating thoughts.  _Hisss…_ He closed his eyes again, then flipped a few pages at random to the image of a Naiad, a spring nymph. A small smile played on his lips, gentler than most. Not all of his conquering was done in violence… Most yes, but not all of it. Water could be soothing and one of the first lessons you learned in a broken world was that water equates life. It’s a lesson you don’t really learn until you must, but once learned is never fucking forgotten. At least this lesson was somewhat gentle, though…  _Drip… drip._

* * *

_He’d seen her while on a run. The sound of running water had drawn his attention. He was always so fucking thirsty and there was never enough water. The sound of it was almost too good to be true… like an audible mirage. He went toward it nonetheless. That was when he saw her. She was frolicking among lines of pipework and barrels. Not really frolicking, she was fucking working but she moved like some kind of fucking fairy or some shit. Maybe she was just so at ease. She was alone, after all._

_He ducked in among the pipes, coming into her view, the sight of her gasping and clutching her breast brought a smile to his face. She wore a tank top and long skirt she’d tied up around her legs. Her dark hair was knotted in a haphazard bun. Her face was suspicious and scared with eyes like backward stars, a glinting blackness. She saw the fire in his own gaze. It scared her. He would have to be gentle._

_“Hey there, darlin’, you got some water for a thirsty, wayward traveler?” He put his hands up in a gesture of placation._

_Her eyes dropped and she nodded. He watched her hand twitch toward her thigh as she turned. He could just barely make out the strap of a holster in her knotted skirt. She dipped a cup into a nearby bucket and handed it to him. He drank, keeping weary eyes on her._

_“Pretty interesting set up you got here.” He motioned to the pipes after he finished the entire cup._

_“My uncle set it up.” Her voice was barely above a whisper._

_“Where is your uncle? He left you out here all by yourself?” Her eyes had hardened, defiant._

_“I can take care of myself.” She said, moving for her gun, but he’d been ready. He pushed her back against the huge barrel, reaching down to stop her hand and remove the Glock himself. His fingers brushed against her smooth flesh and she whimpered as he held her firm, although he was careful not to tip over the barrel._

_“Oh yeah?” He purred, dangling the gun in front of her face. He pressed his body against her as she squirmed. She smelled like raindrops and honeysuckles._

_He pulled away._

_“Look, I’m not gonna touch you if you don’t want me to.” He offered her gun back, but then snatched it away when she reached for it._

_He took a step closer to her and smiled devilishly._

_“Of course… If you DO want me to…”_

_“I don’t even know you…” She breathed against his lips._

_“Want to?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow._

_She answered him with a tentative kiss, a scared, frightful thing which he devoured with his own hungry lips. He’d consumed her whole right there on the ground amidst the twisted pipes and dripping water; the rainbows hidden in the air came to life along with the woman writhing beneath his working mouth and reaching fingers. She was a needy, wanton thing and he’d discovered why. She lived only with her family. He took them all back to The Sanctuary and she became his wife. Her uncle helped develop the irrigation system and he began to fight the tide of death… Water equates life… drip… drip… drip._

* * *

 

Tearing through the pages of the book, he found he was deep into the Ancient Greek lineages. The Pleiades… Atlas with his seven beautiful daughters, just like the farmer who condemned himself. He couldn’t help chuckling as he thought of him. He was so wrapped up in the guilt of his past, so lost in his weakness that he couldn’t get past his failure. He carried it with him, on his shoulders like the weight of the world. He’d been almost crushed beneath it.

_Hisss…_

* * *

_They’d come across the farm by accident, led there by one of the farmer’s clueless younger daughters. Emaciated cows and scrawny chickens struggled among the deadened land, but a small square of soil near the farm house was bursting with life. They’d concentrated their efforts. The girls’ father was a bent and gnarled man, with a coarse, shriveled brown face that seemed to contain just slits for eyes. As worn as he was, though, he was huge. He must have been a force in his youth. He ran the farm with his wife and daughters. It had been his birthplace and he’d left it long ago, gone to the beach and sunshine, to start his own family._

_He’d always meant to make it back but failed to until the world fell. By then it was too late. He’d wrestled the farm back from death but lost his strength at the sight of his undead parents. The man’s daughters kept him going but he refused to leave and the place was going to be the death of them all. A wide-open space, just waiting to be torn to shreds by the horde._

_One of his daughters, the oldest, was the backbone. She saw the farm for what it was… A graveyard. She knew her father clinging to it would doom them all. So, she’d come to him for help. They’d been planning to go back to The Sanctuary. The farm was a dead end. It was dawn and he was strapping his leather jacket on when she knocked at his door._

_She stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. She was wearing a white robe, some kind of flowy fuckin’ material that caught the early, dew-lined rays of the sun. A real Sterope… Her dark skin stood out against the material, like the swirled dark waters of a moonless stream. Her eyes were like fucking diamonds, hot from the Earth’s forge, burning through to his core._

_“You’re going to take us from this place. You have to. He’ll never leave if someone doesn’t make him, and you can. You’re strong enough.”_

_“You want me to take you, sweetheart? I don’t even think you know what you’re fucking asking.”_

_His gravelly voice stopped short when she stepped up to him._

_“Oh, I know. I’ll do whatever I have to, to protect my family.” She said._

_His hands were on her, automatic… It was like her curves were calling out to him, lascivious and delicious, like passion in his motherfucking hands._

_“Well, damn, doll… Don’t make it seem like such a fucking chore.”_

_The way her smile had curved over those luscious lips brought him partly to attention. Watching her drop smoothly to her knees before him, reaching for his jeans, was enough to make him fully erect. He groaned as she took his swollen length in hand, then proceeded to push those full lips over it. Whether she considered it a chore was beyond him. All he knew was that she was damn, fucking good at the task in hand. His groan intensified as she took every inch into her throat. He leaned back, smiling as she worked him with an expertise that drew the fire within him to boil over and down her eager throat._

_Drip… drip… drip._

* * *

 

He had found a whole crew of fucking wenches to work the land at The Sanctuary and between them and those they trained, along with his fucking Naiad irrigation system, they actually began to wrestle the earth from Hades’ grip and grow some fucking food. His empire grew and he continued to conquer; more people joined the cause. Of course, he had his wives, his luxuries, but he tread amongst fucking fire and death to obtain them.

Two more wives he obtained in peace; one like Evarete of Argos, from a besieged king in his Kingdom. The other through trade, in exchange for keeping her sick family cared for. He managed peace with both at the beginning, but the second was somewhat lined in flame. She balked at the deal and her fucking transgression had cost her lover his goddamn face. She had come in line after that, though. His youthful Hebe, forever a child. Of course, between the two of them had come another wife. After them, even one more. Both of those were claimed in violence. Like his hunger for fire and power, his sexual appetite was unending.

The former… she had started like a forbidden thing. The wife of one of his Lieutenants, she had been somewhat out of bounds. Yet not… nothing was out of bounds for him. Still, he could have worked out a deal, married her, appeased his soldier in some way. She made it messy. She was sticky like honey, and he hadn’t been able to get enough of her. His Aphrodite… she’d come onto him like a sickness, rubbing against him in dark corridors while her husband was on patrol, all sex and drama and beauty.

He could remember how she flaunted herself, pressing those perfect perky breasts against him, brushing her tight ass across his strained lap. She liked to wear skirts with no fucking underwear, grinding against him as she rode him at his desk. He’d decided she must be his, only his, and when he told her so she fled with her fucking ugly-ass husband. She ended up getting her gorgeous sister killed then came crawling back to him. Her messy roundabout cost her former husband’s face to look even more like Hephaestus, thanks to his Iron. While he learned fast to keep her crawling, quite fucking literally, and never trust her again.

The last wife was an entirely different story… A story that had changed everything… caused it all to come crashing down. Still, he should probably thank her for that. Most of the time he didn’t like to think of her. She brought up a side of himself he couldn’t face, or perhaps a perspective that warped and twisted his own view of himself, making him face the truth of his fiery, destructive fucking existence. All the while he had been trying to shed his weakness, but along with it had gone his humanity. He’d been replaced with some creature forever unfulfilled and constantly seeking blood and power and passion.

Glancing up at the corner of a window he could barely see, he wondered if he might glimpse a bird; a remembrance of her that would actually calm him. It was rare, though, far rarer than the other bird that haunted him…  _drip… drip… Hisss._

She wasn’t put there to calm him, though. She never had been, even if she was the embodiment of Harmony. All beauty and strength and glaring truth… He looked down at the huge text book, blinking down at the page. Harmony was rumored to have birthed the Amazons. His brow furrowed and he slammed the book closed, pacing his cell after chucking it.

The bars taunted him, shifting over his face in the light. He wondered if his seed could produce warriors and even as he did he knew it was a useless thought. It was out of his hands now. Fire had sealed his fate and it couldn’t help him now. A polaroid was just an image of hope, a snapshot of horror. A person could grow to be a god or a coward… and anywhere in between. It was all dependent on so many different elements of influence it was incalculable. It was out of his hands. His fucking influence was confined to a goddamn leaky cell lined with bars and haunted with the failures and fires of his past.

_Drip… drip… drip… Hisss…_

* * *

 

**_Character Key:_ ** _(This helps with the correlations between Greek characters and Canon characters)_ **_  
_ **

 

**_Negan=Ares:_ ** _Represents violent and physical untamed aspects of war._

**_Lucille=Athena:_ ** _Represents strategy, generalship and intelligence, specifically in war and governance. Sister/Lover of Ares_

**_Frankie=Enyo:_ ** _Goddess of War, delighted in battle so much she refused to take sides. Lover of Ares._

**_Tanya=Harpina:_ ** _Naiad nymph of wells, springs and water fountains. Lover of Ares._ **_  
_ **

**_Amber=Hebe:_ ** _Goddess of Youth, bath-drawer for Ares, her brother and lover._ **_  
_ **

**_Sherry=Aphrodite:_ ** _Goddess of Love and Passion, Wife and Sister of Ares._ **_  
_ **

**_Unnamed wife=Sterope:_ ** _one of the seven Pleiades, the daughters of Atlas and Pleione, a water nymph. Lover of Ares._ **_  
_ **

**_Unnamed wife=Evarete of Argos:_ ** _daughter of King Acricius. Lover of Ares._ **_  
_ **

**_Rick=Hermes:_ ** _Messenger_ **** _of the Gods, God of trade and borders; Guide for lost souls in the Underworld._ **_  
_ **

**_Dwight=Hephaestus:_ ** _God of the Forge, usually depicted as ugly or burnt._ **** _Husband of Aphrodite._ **_  
_ **

**_My OC (Ava)=Harmony:_ ** _Goddess of Harmony and Concord. Mother of Amazons. Lover of Ares._

**_References:_ ** _  
_

_David Perkins, “George Gordon, Lord Byron,” English Romantic Writers, 2nd edition (Harcourt: 1995). Print._ _  
_

_Homer, Robert Fagles, and Bernard Knox. The Iliad. 1998. Print._

_Homer, and Robert Fitzgerald. The Odyssey. New York: Vintage Books, 1990. Print._

_Aeschylus, and Gilbert Murray. The Agamemnon of Aeschylus. London: G. Allen & Unwin Ltd, 1961. Print._ _  
_

_Wikipedia_


End file.
